


Washington

by sloganeer



Series: Panic at the West Wing [6]
Category: Panic At The Disco, The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-21
Updated: 2009-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In six months, a big night being Spencer Smith's boyfriend was getting a wave across the lawn at a press conference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washington

There are rules.

No kissing, no pet names, no flowers. Touching is allowed, but no handholding. Jon can check in once on the phone and once in person, so he sends lots of texts and emails. He sends Spencer a lot of photos. He isn't assigned to the White House, but he uses the press room to check the wires, call his editor, upload his pictures. Excuses, all of it, bundled up with the hope of running into Spencer in the hallways. Sometimes he goes to Spencer's office, claiming a need to use his computer, but Spencer knows better and doesn't let Jon get away with that more than once a month. Spencer goes home when the President goes home, which means they never get to go home together. But Jon does need to know which home before he leaves at night.

He takes a photo of Spencer at his desk and then he says, "Hi."

Spencer doesn't look up. "Don't you have enough?"

Jon takes another picture. "Never."

"I can go home," Spencer tells him, dropping his pen and grinning up at Jon

"Really?" He was all ready for their handclasp goodbye and going home to his cats, alone.

"He's just wrapping up a call."

"So let me take you out," Jon says, suddenly excited about the night. In six months, a big night being Spencer Smith's boyfriend was getting a wave across the lawn at a press conference.

"I was hoping we could, you know." Logging off his computer and grabbing his bag from the hook, Spencer comes around the desk to stand in front of Jon. He looks dangerously close to doing him right there against the Oval Office door. "Go back to your place."

"You're in a good mood. Did the President finally check the box for 'Yes, I like you, too'?"

"Shut up," Spencer says, but he hasn't stopped grinning.

"Everyone knows you have a crush." Jon pitches his voice low because Spencer is right there, in his space and reaching out for both his hands. They both lean in.

"I have a crush on you," he whispers.

Tipping forward, Jon tries to finish the kiss, but Spencer's having none of it. "C'mon," Jon groans.

"You know the rules."

Jon hates the rules. Ryan warned him. They were in Shoreview, Minnesota before Jon tracked him down to ask some questions about his best friend. "Don't worry," Jon explained. "I wrote them down." He had been collecting them on napkins, some in the bottom of his camera bag, others forgotten and mistakenly used to wipe up coffee spills. Jon had wondered aloud, his first day on the campaign, Who's the kid in the pink shirt? and his seatmate gave him a weird look. After that, Jon wrote everything down, everything he wondered about Spencer Smith.

"This, right now, this campaign? It's the most important thing we're ever going to do," Ryan said. "You have to be prepared to come in second place." He uncrossed his legs and pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked at Jon, head pillowed on his crossed arms. "But there'll be times when he looks up, and he sees you first, and it's gonna be worth it, Jon, really."

Every time Jon wants to tell Spencer to 'fuck the rules,' he has to remember that Spencer wouldn't be Spencer without them. And that's who Jon wants to be with.

But Spencer has to remember that Jon Walker is the kind of guy who leans further and waits longer than the last guy. Spencer's eyes flutter, and he bites his lip, and a breath of air comes out like, "Jon." A door surprises them, and they both step away while they still can, and just in time. The President comes out of the Oval with Bonnie, his executive secretary, and her ever-present pad and pen. He has his jacket in one hand and briefcase in the other.

"No photos, Mr. Walker," the President says. He makes the same joke, every time.

"No, sir."

They watch him leave through the outside door, calling back one more order for the night. "Go home, Spencer!"

"Go home," Jon repeats, low, so only Spencer can hear.

He checks his desk once more, hitches his bag up on his shoulder, and they both wave good night to Bonnie. Away from the Oval, Spencer actually takes Jon's hand as they head out of the West Wing. "Behave yourself," Spencer warns as they weave through the people still working in the Communications bullpen. "If we left it up to you, there'd be blowjobs in the Roosevelt Room."

"You don't think Teddy hasn't watched over his fair share?" Jon muses.

Spencer makes him wait, down the hall, out the door, past security, through the gate. They're on the street before he pulls Jon in for a long-needed kiss.

"You really are in a good mood. Did I miss a bill signing?"

"Yeah." Spencer rolls his eyes. "The legislative process gets me hot."

Chuckling, Jon says, "I'll remember that," and he kisses Spencer again. He doesn't let him get away. They talk once a day, but this is the kind of check-in Jon needs.

"E Street's running a Jimmy Stewart revival." Jon's pretty happy in this moment, walking with Spencer, their hands fitted together, but he still wants his date. "Food first? After? Check the showtimes," he says, but Spencer's already on it, pulling his iPhone from its blazer pocket.

"9 PM."

"So, food first!" Jon decides. "What's the movie?"

Spencer shakes his head. He holds up his phone so Jon can see. There's a little picture of a harried Jimmy Stewart in a tie. They're playing Mr. Smith Goes To Washington.

"That's perfect." Jon is ecstatic. "Best date ever!"

"You get one joke," Spencer warns. He slips his phone back into its pocket and takes Jon's hand again. "Make it good."

"Nope," Jon decides. "I'm gonna save it."

"You're going to torture me the whole night, aren't you?"

"I am going to take you to dinner, Mr. Smith. Anywhere you want." They walk around a table of used books too far out in the sidewalk. "Harry's?"

"Ugh, I hate that place. Their service is terrible."

Jon laughs. "You only went once."

"Once is all they get. I don't get a lot of time to do this, Jon. I want to be wowed."

"Fine. Bistro D'oc."

Spencer stops. He turns to look down at Jon, offers him a smile and a kiss. "I'm wowed."

"Dinner with real plates."

"I like that." While they wait for the crosswalk signal, Spencer wraps both arms around Jon's neck to kiss him, really kiss him. It's a little bit wet, Spencer's tongue tracing Jon's lips, and it's so good, so familiar, exactly what Jon needs at the end of every day. "I like you," Spencer tells him.

They find the bright blue building easily, and there's not much of a wait, not on a Wednesday. Jon orders l'onglet de boeuf and mangles the French because it makes Spencer laugh. He goes with the roast chicken and sticks his tongue out at Jon after the waiter compliments his pronunciation.

"So, you had a good day." Jon doesn't have to ask; he can tell.

"Yeah. Just busy enough, you know?"

"To keep Ryan from wandering in looking for company?"

They both laugh. "Exactly."

"I was in elementary schools all day," Jon tells him.

"Oh, the education speeches." Spencer always knows. Jon thinks he might know everything that happens in Washington. "I would have had the President stop by if I had known you were shooting."

Jon shakes his head. "No, you wouldn't."

"That's true," Spencer agrees and looks down to inspect his cutlery.

He's always worried about the President, whether Ryan is eating enough, if Brendon is safe, but now Spencer has added the fear of looking like he's giving Jon special treatment. Spencer even made them talk to the Chief of Staff before they went out on their first date, and no one in that meeting was comfortable.

"Why are you telling me this?" Josh had said, scrubbing at his scalp.

Spencer had responded, "It's the professional thing to do," but Josh disagreed and shooed them out of his office.

"But the kids were great," Jon reports. "I got some great shots. They put on a skit, Spence. It was adorable."

"A skit about education reform?"

"No. It was about pirates."

They eat and laugh, and Spencer tells him about Brendon's Mural Room meeting with the wife of the Russian President, even though Brendon phoned that afternoon and told Jon the whole story, even the parts Spencer doesn't know.

"I should buy you dessert," Jon decides after their plates are gone. He waves the waiter over before Spencer can say no. "Can we get some profiteroles?" Spencer ducks and shakes his head. His bangs come down over his eyes, and Jon has to reach across the table to get him to look up.

He says, "Hey, Mr. Smith," and Spencer laughs. A couple of months ago, he would have blushed, but now he laughs. Well, he still blushes, but Jon likes that, too.

"Fine," Spencer says. "But I'm paying for the movie."

"You're a civil servant. Would you let me buy you dinner?" They have this fight a lot. It's not always a fight. Sometimes it's Jon talking and Spencer not listening.

"Jon--"

"No. This is my date. I get to pay." Jon doesn't stop and Spencer stays quiet. "And that doesn't make you the girl, it makes you my boyfriend, so shut the fuck up and eat your profiteroles."

Spencer's mouth is a tight straight line, like he wants to say something, but he can't decide what. He doesn't say anything while they finish dessert, but he does point out when Jon smears chocolate sauce on his nose, which counts for something. He stands at his elbow while Jon signs the credit card slip, moves close as they walk to the theatre, and, by the time they arrive, Spencer has to release Jon's hand to let him pay for the popcorn, extra butter.

He takes Jon's hand again to lead him to a couple of empty seats in the back row. "Does this apology come with makeouts?" Jon asks.

"What do you think?" Spencer says, eyebrow up.

"I think I'm going to get a kiss from Mr. Smith."

Now Spencer rolls his eyes and turns away from Jon. It's just like the campaign, except that's been over six months now.

Jon eats the popcorn, holding the box for Spencer, who pretends he doesn't want any. They wait out the previews without talking, but when the credits start, Jon can't take it any longer.

"You started out in such a good mood," he whispers, sliding his buttery hand into Spencer's. It's the best sign of the night that Spencer doesn't pull away. He holds Jon's hand in his lap, Jon's one hand between both of Spencer's. He plays with each of Jon's fingers, counting. Spencer likes to be sure of things. "This is your movie, Spence."

He tries to pull away. Jon won't let him.

"It's not about Jimmy Stewart. God, Spence. It's you. You're the Mr. Smith who went to Washington. Why can't you see that?"

"I didn't do anything. I only made sure the senator got where he needed to be on time."

"He needed to be here. The President--remember?--he needed you to get him here on time, Spence."

He nods his head. Jon won't let him forget.

"I haven't ruined the date?" Spencer asks as the lights come up.

"You're still here," Jon grins. He holds up their hands, still tight together, and he kisses Spencer's knuckles. He tastes like butter. "With me. That's what a date is, Spencer. It's not the food or the film."

"The food and the film were good, though." Spencer sounds eager. He wants Jon to know what he liked.

"Well, I'm happy," Jon says. He puts an arm around Spencer's shoulders to keep him close. "I know you think it's your job to take care of everyone because you take care of the President, but it's not, OK? I get to take care of you."

They kiss on the street outside the theatre. Jon keeps it chaste, because the words are what really matters. Spencer's already decided that part is over, and now he wants the rest. He wants what started outside the White House earlier that evening. He pulls Jon up onto his toes and fits their hips together against the cold brick wall. "The cats will be OK?" he asks, breathing into Jon's mouth.

"My cats will be awesome."

"For the night, I mean," Spencer laughs. "Come back to my place, I mean."

"Yeah. Yeah. I can do that."

They walk quickly through the streets because it's trying to rain and it's busy, but Jon keeps ducking into doorways, pulling Spencer with him, and diving in for more kisses. It's not every day he gets to do this. Spencer buttons himself up so tight, sometimes, even Jon can't wiggle his way inside. Out here, away from the Oval and the schedule, Spencer's iPhone still on, waiting, but tucked away in his breast pocket, it's easy for Jon to slip under and in. It's easy because he's been here before, kissing Spencer against the familiar door of his apartment building. He knows the way.

"Oh," Spencer says, pulling back. He looks up and sees the name on the wall. "We're here." His eyes are wide and happy, and his mouth soft when he leans into Jon again.

"Let's get you to a bed, Mr. Smith."

Jon keeps a hand on Spencer's back, getting them up the stairs without injury or unnecessary pauses. Shoving Spencer against his front door so Jon can taste his lower lip, of course, is completely necessary. It happens just a bit too loud, though, Spencer letting out the kind of groan Jon rarely hears, and Brendon yells, "What are you boys doing out there?" from the other side of the door.

Ryan and Brendon are on the couch, heads together, but legs stretched out in opposite directions. Less than a minute ago, their feet were on the coffee table, but both know better than to let Spencer see that. Brendon twists around to peer at them over the back of the couch.

"Almost missed curfew," he sings.

Spencer flips him off. Jon whispers, "You're so mean," into Spencer's shoulder, then grabs at his outstretched hand, pulling it down and threading their fingers together. Over Brendon's shoulder, Jon can see Rachel Maddow on the TV--yesterday's episode, the same one he watched this morning over breakfast. Tomorrow, he and Spencer will watch tonight's episode, and maybe Jon can get Spencer to make pancakes.

But first, "Bed," Jon reminds him, pressing his nose behind Spencer's ear, maneuvering him down the hall before Ryan waylays them with whatever he's writing on that legal pad. He slips his fingers under Spencer's blazer, his hand around Spencer's side until Spencer turns a goofy smile toward Jon. He nods and waves good night to Ryan and Brendon. He's Jon's for now, for the night, at least.

"Do you know--" Jon puts his hands on Spencer's jaw. He's smiling. God, Jon hasn't seen him smile like that in ages. "Hey. Do you remember the last time we were here?"

The bedroom door is loud when Spencer kicks it shut. "You sleep over all the time," he laughs. His hands go to Jon's zipper.

"When was the last time we had sex, Spencer?"

"That's easy. It was the night I got home from the Moscow trip." He leaves Jon's jeans open and unbuttons his own shirt. He hasn't loosened the tie yet.

"When was the Moscow trip, Spencer?"

He wrinkles his nose. "June."

"And today is--"

"July, fine, it's been a while, but you're busy, too, so don't give me those eyes."

Jon pushes up on his toes. He leans Spencer back with a kiss. "Sucker for my eyes," he teases. Using his hand at the back of Spencer's neck, Jon musses his hair and holds Spencer into the kiss. It goes long, deep. It's more than the hello/goodbye kisses Jon's been surviving on the past month. More, and then they stumble backwards, Jon using his hips, his leg, his ankle, to get them on the bed before they fall.

"Makeouts," he says, and Spencer goes, "Yeah, yeah," and looks up at Jon, sitting back on his thighs. Jon runs his hands over Spencer's belly, up to his chest and shoulders, and pushes his shirt and jacket off in one motion. Arching up into a kiss, Spencer helps Jon get him naked. When his shirt's gone, and Jon has made Spencer's lips sufficiently shiny for the moment, he pulls away to get rid of the tie (the Band of Outsiders blue and yellow stripe Spencer had coveted and Jon bought him after the President's first month). Then it's right back to his mouth.

He always misses kissing most. With Spencer's crazy rules, as well as their crazy schedules, Jon can go days. So times like this, when he can lay between Spencer's legs, hold his shoulders, and kiss and kiss and kiss, Jon hangs onto. There's the way Spencer tastes, a little salty and kind of sweet from whatever chapstick he's using these days. There's the way Spencer's hands sit on his back, under his shirt, but waiting. He's hard, too; Jon can feel him under those pants, but they're not going there yet. There's still a little patch of skin on his throat Jon needs to suck.

"Jon," he groans. Spencer rubs his foot over Jon's calf.

"Wait. You didn't taste like this last time." He bites the soft line of Spencer's jaw. His tongue prickles on the touch of beard coming in.

Spencer suck in his breath. "C'mon. Take off your shirt. And your pants. And everything else."

"Hey." He falls onto his side. He pulls the shirt over his head, and that only encourages Spencer's cheekiness. Jon has to slap his hand away. "You don't have to get me there on time."

"Just get there."

"Yeah, yeah." He runs his fingers over the hard bone of Spencer's hip. "Can you reach the--"

"I got it," Spencer groans as he stretches, lifting up when Jon wants to pull his pants off, knowing, though he isn't looking. He's digging into the bedside drawer. He's a pale expanse of skin in front of Jon, under his hands and his tongue. Tearing himself away from the freckles, Jon gets naked.

Spencer pulls himself up against the headboard, and he grins because he knows there's nowhere for Jon to go but his lap.

"This how you want it?"

"This is how I want you." Spencer already has the lube open, rubbing it warm in his fingers before reaching behind Jon and pressing inside. This night started out as Jon's reminder to Spencer, but he's turned it around now. He's pulled Jon in close, opened him up, and Jon can barely breathe.

Spencer's mouth keeps him grounded. They kiss with light presses, careful licks while Spencer rips the condom open behind Jon's back and rolls it on. Jon follows the sound. He lets Spencer guide him down with one hand low on his back.

"That's good," Jon whispers. He drags his mouth across Spencer's cheek, bites Spencer's earlobe. "Don't stop, don't stop," Jon tells him, a rough rasp of his voice, and Spencer doesn't, not until he's all the way hard and deep inside Jon.

Everything goes slow. Jon closes his eyes. He burrows into the curve of Spencer's neck. He hangs on.

"Oh, I missed this." Spencer's fingers dig into Jon's hips. He pulls Jon tight against him, holds him still, trapping Jon's swollen cock between their bellies while Spencer thrusts up. Jon isn't doing any of the work, save his biting his lip and keeping his voice down. Brendon will make breakfast unbearable, regardless, but Jon won't give them anything to talk about if he can help it.

"Let me know how it feels." Spencer puts a hand on his head. He presses Jon's mouth to his ear. "Just me, Jon. I wanna hear you."

Sometimes, Jon can't help it.

He moans and whimpers, and when Spencer pulses hard inside him, Jon can't help it. "Spence, Spence, oh, God."

"I know," Spencer agrees. His hands are right there at Jon's back, bracing him and encouraging him to rub. Jon doesn't even realize how close he is until he comes. "Jesus," Spencer says, laughing. He's looking down between them, at the mess Jon made, and wiping them both clean with a tissue.

Jon pulls off. He lays on his back on the bed and tries to catch his breath. Spencer throws the tissues and the condom towards the trash, then he rolls onto Jon. "Good, right?" he whispers. He licks into Jon's mouth, coaxing him open, drawing his tongue out. Jon keeps the kiss going until Spencer says, muffled, "Just a minute."

Jon lets him slip away and, one eye open, watches Spencer roll up to his feet and cross the room to where their clothes are piled on the floor. Still foggy from his orgasm, Jon can't tell if Spencer's getting dressed or folding laundry. But then he's back, kneeling on the bed to roll Jon over to the other side and spoon up behind him.

His phone, Jon realizes. Spencer went to get his phone from his blazer, hook it up to the charger, and leave it on the bedside table. He does it every night, and he never forgets, even after sex.

"Don't let us go that long again," he murmurs against Jon's back. Their hands slide together on Jon's belly.

"You're the one attached to your phone. Put a note in your schedule." Jon jumps when Spencer bites his shoulder.

"Shut up."

"Write it down in your book," he says, and they both fall quiet after that. It's not that late, but it's past Spencer's bedtime. Jon closes his eyes, and he's gone. When he wakes up, it's to that familiar ringing, Spencer pulling away and answering his phone. He keeps his voice low because he doesn't want to wake Jon, but Jon's become a light sleeper in Spencer's bed. He likes to say good morning and goodbye.

"What's going on?" he rasps, lifting a heavy hand to Spencer's stooped shoulders.

"I don't know yet. That was Wendy." If the switchboard is calling Spencer in, everyone else is getting that wake-up call, too. Jon rubs his hand across Spencer's back before it falls to the bed when he stands. He throws a tired smile back at Jon and disappears into the bathroom.

Jon flops back on the bed. He stretches, rubbing his cheek in the warm spot Spencer left and tucking his toes back under the covers. The sun is just starting to peek through the blinds. When he hears the shower start, Jon reaches back for Spencer's iPhone. He falls off the bed, stumbling to the window to catch the sun. The first photo he takes, blinds up, window open, for best light, is a good one. It's the moment before everything turns golden.

He sets it as Spencer's new background and crawls back into bed.

Letting his eyes fall closed, Jon listens to the shower. On good days, he can hear Spencer singing. Today isn't good yet, but they'll get there.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, kneeling at the edge of the bed. He's already dressed. He has his phone is one hand. Jon reaches out to drag his fingers through Spencer's damp hair. "I have to go, but I wanted to make sure I said sorry. About last night. Or, the last month, I guess."

"I don't need you to apologize, Spence."

"I know. I need to. Too many people get lost in this job, but that's not going to happen to us."

"No. I'm hanging onto you," and he is. Jon wraps his hand around Spencer's neck and pulls him down for a short kiss. It's all Jon needs.

"All right." Spencer stands. He clears his throat. "Lunch?"

Jon hums agreement. "I'll bring you your favorite chicken sandwich, and you'll want to kiss me right there next to the Oval Office," he teases.

"Nice try," Spencer says, but he's smiling when he closes the bedroom door. Jon lifts his arms to the ceiling, half stretch, half victory. He made that smile. Even Mr. Smith's rules won't stop Jon trying for another. The rules are the challenge, but that smile is everything else.


End file.
